Bleach & Vinegar
by Complicity
Summary: Trilogy. Jonny Maconie, for whom there's a Before and an After. "Do you count the leaves when they fall, and can you feel anything at all?" - Just Jack.
1. Part 1

**Bleach & Vinegar.**

**A/N. Hi, I have another sneaky trilogy for y'all. I went delving into Jonny's head & found some darkness. ****I'm not sure what we already know about Jonny, if anything, so I'm playing the artistic license card if there are any little inaccuracies!** I hope you enjoy it, please let me know what you think! Part 3 of The Other Side will be up in a couple of days x Sarah

**Part 1.**

22nd May, 2013.

Be my friend, hold me. Wrap me up, unfold me.

Wind me up, and breathe me.

The wee hours creep into the not so wee ones. The inky black fades to grey, to blue, to warm fawny yellow and his silence is punctured by the merry chirp of a sunny day. He knows this drill, he could picture it with his eyes closed if he could only bloody close them.

She. She. She. The meaning of my life is she. He's lyrical because it's easier to think like that. A default. You have less control over the words that way. Less naming, blaming. Fuck.

Every muscle is unstable. He's prone on his back, staring at the ceiling. Not really seeing it, not seeing anything else. Nothing isn't shaking, but he isn't crying either. When did the tears dry up? 2010 maybe? They just ran out one day, maybe when he couldn't see her face anymore.

Again. Again again again. It's groundhog day in his head. The longest 5 seconds of his life; The shortest minute and a half. Again. And again.

Fuck! He's not sure he's said that since. Not until today. Yesterday. Standing in the toilets looking at that little white stick.

His alarm goes off. He closes his eyes, because that'll make it go away.

**ooooo**

It's 1999. He listens to the Verve, and Texas, and he's more likely to be found with a strong pint of stout in one of the dive pubs just off Dalkeith, near the Uni, than chasing girls in heels as they trip over cobbles on Cowgate. Tonight, however, is his 20th birthday, which means he gets to do what everybody else wants to do, and that means Cowgate.

"The Hive?" He moans in protest, grateful at least for the balmy weather as they stand in the queue. The girl behind his squeals, drunk, and spills the contents of her contraband water bottle down his shirt. "The bloody Hive." He's cut off as they're ferried inside, squeezed into the already cramped, smoky and sweaty underground club. The stone walls are slimy and thick with decades of cigarette tar, and he pushes through the crowd with his mates until they reach the relative release of the Trance room. There are hands everywhere, and he moves with the crowd, trying to force himself into the right frame of mind for this. He hardly notices he's dancing with one girl in particular until she leans over to scream in his ear, shocking pink lipstick catching his eye.

"Smoke?"

"What?"

"Shall we go for a smoke?" He pats down his pockets and shrugs. She rolls her eyes.

"Outside!"

"What?"

"Come on!" She grabs him by the wrist, dragging him back through the hoards and out into the suddenly fresh, cool night air. He gets a head rush, and she pulls him around the corner where they both sit down and lean against the brickwork. "Here." He takes the cigarette she passes him, toys with it in his hands for a moment and then draws it to his lips with mock confidence. "You don't really like it in there, do you?" He smiles, she has a thick west coast accent that suits her forceful nature.

"Not really no."

"Me either." He looks up at her then, seeing all her features for the first time. He could swear blind that his heart actually hops a little as he looks into her eyes. She's dressed for the night; Tufts of bottle blonde hair twisted and pinned so it sticks out in a thousand directions, adorned in glitter and a tight fitting psychedelic green dress. She misconstrues his stare and looks at her shoes. "Actually, I love it." She laughs, and it's his new favourite sound in the world. "I DJ there every Tuesday; Student Night. I don't know why I lied." He smiles at her.

"Well, I don't smoke."

"No kidding!" She exclaims, noting how he's taken one drag and is now watching the thing smoulder away between his fingertips. He can't think of what to say to her next, whether or not there's anything else he needs to say, but she silences his inner dialogue by placing both her hands on his face and drawing him in for a kiss. Jonny's body responds in every way it should, raw and passionate, and he's pleased to feel her muscles contract beneath him in response. "I'm Josie." She utters breathlessly as they pull apart.

"Jonny." He replies with a grin.

**ooooo**

"Where's Maconie?" Jac snaps the words in the general direction of the Nurses' station, met mostly with shrugs, apart from Mo who turns to face her boss.

"Oh, he's not in today."

"Yes he is, I've seen the rota."

"He's called in sick." She answers too quickly, and Jac puts her hands on her hips.

"Not that Elliot or I are aware of."

"Well he hasn't actually phoned in, but he just is. He won't be in today."

"You're saying he's called in sick telepathically?" She arches an eyebrow at the Registrar, her cagey demeanour leaving Jac reluctant to let this go, particularly after yesterday's events.

"Just, trust me Jac, leave it."

"No!"

**ooooo**

It's a warm July evening in 2003, and Jonny walks south down Dalkeith Road in his shirtsleeves, making the most of the late summer sunset. He's just finished a double shift but he feels upbeat and alive, smiling as he hears the music pumping from the open window of the first floor flat he shares with Josie. She's looking out for him, and she leans out of the window with a grin when he approaches. She has Mark Ronson on maximum volume, and he's shocked the neighbours haven't sabotaged her personal party by this hour, they usually do.

"Hey! Loser!" She hollers at him above the music, "Did you buy a No Doubt album?!" She's holding a stack of CD's, waving one at him in disgust.

"Shut yer noise, eh lass!" Jonny does a gruff impression of their least favourite neighbour, and she dissolves into a fit of giggles. He's been practising that one, and it's spot on. "And yeah I did." He makes a note to never tell her he thinks she's the spit of Gwen Stefani. "What are you doing up there you loopy mare?" He hears a crash and a curse as she steps away from the window, and he makes his way up to join her.

"You're late!" She chastises him playfully as he joins her in the living room, noting she's halfway through a bottle of Muscadet and that most of their belongings are covering the carpet in various piles.

"So, you went nuclear crazy?!" He gestures towards the mess around them and tips the bottle of wine to get a look at the label. "Hey, this is expensive!"

"Oh I'm sorry," She kisses him on the cheek as she walks past to grab him a glass, "I just couldn't wait any longer, this is the best day!" She's grinning like an idiot and he has to join her, imagining her bouncing off the walls with whatever news she has for him whilst he took a tranquil walk home instead of the bus.

"Well, go on then!" He exclaims, taken in by her excitement as she presses the wine into his hands.

"Okay. Argh, what first?"

"What do you mean?"

"Which do you want to hear first? Best news or even better news?"

"Christ sake Josie!"

"I got the job! We got the flat!" He closes his eyes for a second and gives his head a little shake, trying to process both bits of news at once. She screams, obviously content with his speechlessness, and throws her arms around his neck, spilling the drink. "I love you Jonathan Maconie!" He tries to return the sentiment but she puts her palm flat against his mouth, her favourite way of shutting him up when she can't wait to speak. "I know, I know. You too. Okay so, they accepted our offer straight off, we can move next week! We are Josephine Colley and Jonathan Maconie of Barony Street, New Town. Homeowners! North of the bridge!" She puts on a faux posh Edinburgh accent for the last bit. "And two weeks on Monday I will start my first full time post on Mr Taylor's firm. No more stupid ED and Fracture Clinic and Orthopod rotations, I'm on a Paediatric Surgical Firm at the Edinburgh Infirmary! We'll work in the same building!" She squeals again and drags him back into a hug.

"I love you, I love you, I love you." Her temperament is infectious, it always has been, and he spins her around in circles as her feet leave the floor. "You sexy, intelligent, sexy, feisty, woman. Who needs to dye her roots." She slaps him playfully as he adds the last bit, putting her down and holding her at arms length. "So we can move next week?" She nods, aware that her overexcited attack on the living room might have been a bit premature. "I'm going out to get boxes from Tesco!" He grabs his jacket and vanishes, leaving her to dance around the living room and sing into her hairbrush.

**ooooo**

"Jac, why are you pushing this?" Mo sighs, exasperated with her boss who is currently detaining the registrar in her office.

"I don't know what planet you're living on but incase it's escaped your notice senior nurses can't just not show up for work."

"It's just one shift! I told you, put it down as a sick day."

"He hasn't called in sick."

"But I told you he's sick, so what difference does it make? Why can't you just.."

"Maureen, if you tell me to leave it or trust you one more time I swear to god I will swing for you!"

"Well, what do you want me to say? It's not because of you, okay? You're all still.. fine. With each other." She gestures towards Jac's stomach. The Consultant places her hands on her desk and leans forward, narrowing her eyes which are trained on Mo.

"Tell me what you know. Now." Mo sighs and sits, knowing when she's beat.

"I don't know much about it, but, Jonny has a dark day."

"What does that men?" Jac scoffs, scornful of the idea, and Mo shrugs honestly.

"It means that on the 22nd May every year he goes all.. incommunicado. He won't come in, he won't answer the phone, and he won't surface again until tomorrow. Then he'll pretend that everything's fine and nothing happened. Even to me. I cover for him, and play along."

"Why?" To Jac, it's all completely implausible.

"He's my mate. I don't need to know anything else." Jac huffs, ever infuriated by her colleague.

"You've, what, never asked?!"

"Well, I tried once. The first time. When he first came to work with me, I mean."

"Which was?"

"Er, June-ish. 2005. When he came down to London from Edinburgh."

"Eight years!" Jac is incredulous. "You've let him do this for eight years?"

"There's no harm in.."

"Are you kidding me? It's ridiculous!"

"But.."

"Just, go, fine. I believe your crazy story and I'm not going to HR about it."

"You'll leave it?" Jac purses her lips, and Mo has to settle for silence in reply as her boss turns her attention to her computer screen sulkily. She escapes the office whilst she can, biting back a snark about turning the place into a padded cell.


	2. Part 2

**Bleach & Vinegar.**

**A/N. Hi! I finished all 3 parts, woo, so you can have part 2. I hope you enjoy it, if that's the right word... x**

**Part 2.**

It's March, 2005. Jonny smiles as he checks his pager, which his girlfriend is abusing frantically; Three bleeps in the last 10 minutes.

"Nurse Maconie." The hospital CEO addresses him directly from the head of the boardroom table, exasperated by the constant interruption. "If you've somewhere to be?"

"No, no." He puts it down quickly.

"If you're needed on the ward?"

"I'm not!" He curses her silently, but can't really bring himself to be annoyed. "It's Josie. Sorry." His boss raises his eyebrows at him, and an SHO chimes in unhelpfully.

"They're joined at the hip, aren't ya pal?" And then, "What?!" When Jonny shoots him a glare.

Twenty minutes later he's stalking towards the cafe where Josie is standing waiting, hopping from foot to foot and chewing her nails nervously. "I was in the Transplant meeting you daft bint!" He says by way of greeting, giving her a quick peck on the cheek. "The CEO nearly had my neck!"

"Oh god, sorry!" She makes a face, pleading for forgiveness with her eyes, "How did it go?" She knows how important the campaign has been to him.

"As planned! The ward's going to be a dedicated transplant centre for the whole Lothian area. Mac's heading it up," he refers to the Cardiothoracic Consultant, "and I'm the Deputy Coordinator! As of next month! We're talking pay rise, baby!" She smiles broadly at him, more subdued than normal, and kisses him devotedly in the middle of the corridor, her hands on his cheeks and his on her waist.

"Well that's good timing, because I have some news for you too." She speaks softly.

"Jo, are you crying?" He laughs at her. "You bloody softie! What is it?"

"I'm pregnant." Her big blue eyes are sincere, searching his face, unsure what to do with his silence. "Jonny?"

"That's amazing." He's quiet, breathy, knocked for six.

"I just did a test." She knows him well enough to know that none of this will sink in for at least a day. "Then, I managed to wangle an appointment for a scan." She checks her watch. "Sort of, now. Ten seconds ago actually." He's frozen to the spot. "Well, come on!"

**ooooo**

Jac gulps as she makes the final click, ending her trip down Jonny's digital paper trail and landing on a newspaper article in The Scotsman's archives. It's dated 23rd May 2005, and it tells the tragic story that she knows is at the heart of this. She feels tears pricking the back of her eyes as her subconscious can't help but humanise the victims of the curtly reported tale. Damn hormones, she tells herself. There's a rap at the door, then, and Jac utters a quick 'Come in' as levelly as she can, rolling her eyes when Mo appears.

"Finished sulking yet Ms Naylor? Only, there's one or two people with heart problems out here that could do with your attention."

"Can't Elliot do.. something?"

"He's just gone into theatre. You've been in here for ages." Mo searches Jac's expression, noting her strange cagey demeanour. "What are you doing?" She reaches over and turns the monitor to face her before Jac can snatch it away from her grasp.

"Oh, by all means Mo! Nothing's confidential in a hospital, after all!" Initially the registrar is confused by the article, but she scans the tabs at the bottom of the page and clicks through a few, realisation dawning slowly.

"Well evidently not! How did you get into these records? St Josephs, the Edinburgh Infirmary, and, this one is like, Hanssen's eyes only! What the hell, Jac?" She demands.

"Oh give me a break." Jac rolls her eyes and mutters under her breath. "I've been hacking personnel files since 1990."

"Oh, well, that's alright then."

"Just, read the article I found." She says it quietly, sincerely, and Mo obliges. They're both silent for a few moments as she scans it.

"Oh. Woah. Poor Jonny." She considers it all for a bit longer, aware of Jac's eyes on her. "Okay, so that's why. We know now. And, evidently, he just needs this one day a year. We can give him that."

"Oh great, how big of you. Thanks Yoda."

"Well excuse me but,"

"How do you think this is helping him?" She sighs, then speaks decidedly. "I'm going to see him."

**ooooo**

22nd May, 2005.

Oh it's just a perfect day. Jonny wants to pinch himself. He's beaten the alarm, the sun is shining, and his arm is wrapped around his pregnant girlfriend who's leaning against his chest and drooling much less than usual. He ruffles her hair as he watches her sleep. Lately she's let it grow out, and it almost grazes her shoulders, fluffy and frazzled from years of peroxide. Of course, she has the trademark inch of dark brunette roots that she can never keep on top of. She told him once that she's forever grateful for 90's grunge, because it means blondes can get away with it. In truth it suits her and he couldn't imagine her any other way. He runs his hand tenderly along her cheek, feeling a pang of morning lust for her impossibly soft and milky white skin.

"Don't even think it." She mumbles sleepily, smiling against his skin, her right hand stroking his chest softly.

"Please." He whispers in her ear, all puppy dog eyes. "We've got 10 minutes."

"Oh don't let 'em say you don't know how to woo a girl, Jonny Maconie." She slaps him playfully, then plants her lips on his, rolls over onto her back and drags him on top of her. "Marry me." She says it breathlessly, decidedly. Her eyes are wild, her face inches from his, analysing, drinking in every ounce of his expression, etching it on her brain forever. She giggles and kisses him before he can get over the speechlessness.

"But, you don't believe in marriage."

"I'm having your baby, loser. Marry me!"

Somehow the mood only lifts as they go through their morning routine. Jonny knows he's on cloud nine, wonders if he'll just float off into the atmosphere if he falls anymore in love with this woman. She fidgets incessantly on the drive to work, delving into the glove compartment to organise the clutter of CD's which are all in the wrong cases, happily bopping to his Stereophonics album as she does so. He knows she's impatient to tell people. She loves to tell people things, share herself, put everything out there. She's proud that he's hers and that makes him even prouder that she's his. He can't shake the grin, not for half a second. He's sure he'll have face ache by lunchtime. She yanks the Stereophonics out of the player as they pull into the carpark, replacing it with something he doesn't see as he kills the engine. "Hey!" She exclaims in protest.

"No pre work rave today, we're late." He pecks her on the cheek as she pouts at him, and they clamber out.

"No pre work rave." She mocks mournfully. "Next thing you know we'll be doing it with the lights off, running out of dinner conversation!"

"Never!" He calls as she heads towards the entrance, too excited to wait for him. He laughs as he leans back into the car to retrieve both his and her bags from the back seat. He looks up as he slams the car door, then pauses for a moment just to watch her. She's standing at the hospital entrance, looking around for a familiar face. Somebody approaches her and she greets them with that huge beaming smile that turns his insides to butter. She nods carefully as the man speaks, then points inside, gesturing to where the stairs are and explaining how he should get to his destination. When she's finished she spins around, clearly exasperated to see he's still standing by the car.

Then it happens. A very specific sequence of events that will never leave him. The longest 5 seconds of his life; The shortest minute and a half. She opens her mouth to shout at him, and he finds that her lips don't have to begin to form the words before he knows she'll say, _'Come on!'_ But he isn't watching her mouth anymore, his heart is suddenly in his throat as the man who asked for directions makes his move. There's a kitchen knife. He pulls it into full view from its previous position inside his jacket. Jonny is the first to see it, even though two Security are sharing a joke just metres from Josie. Somebody even brushes past the man, late for work and oblivious.

"No." The protest is futile. The distance between him and the scene makes it absolutely pointless. Josie doesn't get the first word out. Just the, 'C', which deflates into nothing. Then there's a look on her face that he can't liken to anything he's ever seen before. The pain, and the shock, and the confusion. The big arms fly around her upper body, crushing her into him, then drop her just as quickly. Jonny is flying across the grass by now. "Fuck. No, fuck." His head is spinning and he can't stay upright, but the stumbling barely hinders his speed at all. Perhaps it'll be okay, and then the man rips the knife from her back as quickly as he impaled her, and he knows. He knew already. There are people everywhere, suddenly, the flurry of panic and action. The perpetrator pressed into the ground by a Security guard. The knife; Still, bloody and abandoned on the pavement. Josie. Josie Josie Josie. "No." She's on her knees, then flat on her back by the time he reaches her, and he's wheezing and gasping with something far worse than physical exertion. The wound reaches all the way through to her chest, which is where he presses his palm as her green shirt turns impossibly crimson. So red it's almost orange in the sunshine. He feels himself gasp, or gulp; It's just a noise that leaves him like a flare. The look on her face hasn't changed since he started sprinting across the grass, except for her eyes. Her eyes say that she knows exactly what's happening. Her eyes are trained on him, on nobody else. They say I love you. They say I'm scared. They even say I'm sorry. For a few seconds she's still breathing, hyperventilating, and he's holding her even as her throat fills up with blood at an impossible speed. He tastes blood, too, bitter and metallic and fearful. Then she isn't breathing anymore as her lungs and trachea are flooded. She has this single horrible involuntary choke, so forceful that her whole chest leaps and it sprays blood across her porcelain face and over his t-shirt, and then she's still. Her eyes are still fixed on him, still so scared, lifeless. Still. She sinks, somehow, a little further in to the pavement as her breath leaves her body, and her heart lies slashed in her chest. "Josie." Bodies close in on him. There are hands everywhere, on his shoulders, on her neck. Other people, confirming that it's over. "No." Ninety fucking seconds. You can't take that much life away in ninety fucking seconds.

"I said no!" His hands fly backwards, flailing, lashing at the intruders. His fist catches a Nurse in the gut and she falls down with a gasp of shock. Then the hands are rougher, forceful, and he's angrier and more irrational as he's dragged away from her, as more people block his view of her face. He fights against everything that touches him, hissing and spitting and punching and roaring. He's hitting out, exclaiming in frustrated gaspy growls as he's restrained. The raw animal fury topples more than one of the men who try to placate him, and in the end his face is pressed into the gritty tarmac, left hand twisted up his back, two muscular security guards holding him down. "No!" His face is wet, streaming with tears and sweat. He thinks he'll be sick. "Rargh!" It's an elongated roar of anguish. Disbelief. He bashes his free hand against the ground until it bleeds. He struggles until he's too weak to even stand without assistance. He realises he's been deaf to the scene around him since he first saw the knife. Deaf to everything. Then he cries. Devastating sobs. Can't see beyond this moment. Can't see a time when he won't be sobbing.

**ooooo**

23rd May, 2005.

There's a kind of ache, shuddering through his muscles, bones even, different to anything he's experienced before. The bell jar hasn't lifted from his head and his ears ring from the nothingness. The police said thanks, thanks for the statement. Sorry for the loss. Hang around though, eh pal, incase they need to speak to you again. No. That's the one thing he can't promise; Won't come good on. See, here is torture, here is his hell. He has to go. Away from everything, because anything familiar is half hers. Every object, every destination, every moment. He's suffocating.

Jonny knows that he shouldn't be driving. He can hear Josie telling him to stop the car because he's being a reckless idiot, but there's something in that possibility which keeps his foot to the floor. His hand fumbles shakily with the CD player, and he eventually slams his thumb onto the play button. It's one of her Clubland CD's. He turns the dial up to full volume, opens the window and hopes the stimulation will dry his eyes as he flies in the fast lane. No lyrics, he suddenly realises it and almost laughs in shock. That's why he can't stand most of her music, the lyricless trance stuff. He needs words. Right now, especially, he needs the words to fill the void he can't bear to let his thoughts loose on.

Jonny keeps listening to the Clubland CD. He keeps listening on repeat and keeps driving until he hits London in the dead of night, by chance more than anything else. He knows he won't go back. He won't ever go home because it isn't there anymore. He'll sleep in the car, then he'll get rid of that too.


	3. Part 3

**Bleach & Vinegar.**

**A/N. Last bit. Thankyou guys for the feedback so far! x**

**Part 3.**

Now it's May 22nd, 2013. 8 years. More years without her than with her. How does it still hurt this much? He shuts his eyes, and its yesterday. He can't see her features so clearly anymore. Sometimes there are days when his subconscious doesn't even utter her name. But still; It could've been yesterday. It could've been this morning.

Then there's the thing that happened last week. His heart flutters nervously as he remembers it. He feels guilty about it, like it's something he could really have control over. And he feels scared because perhaps, after yesterday's news, it's an omen. He had the dream. In the dream she's stabbed right in front of him, inches from him, but the bell jar's already in place and he's hammering on it and shouting and screaming but nobody can hear, and nobody helps her. Nobody even holds her hand as she lies there and bleeds out. It's not a new dream. Last week, though, it was different. Last week it wasn't Josie he was hammering on the glass to get at, it was Jac. His chest had lurched, he'd stopped fighting to get to her. The glass had closed in like cling film until he didn't even have enough room to breathe. He'd stood there, staring at her, and her red hair splayed across the pavement. He'd woken up screaming.

Jonny opens his eyes as he becomes slowly aware of banging. Banging on his bell jar. Banging that is happening now, today, on the 22nd of May 2013 at the door of his flat. He tries to shake himself from his reverie. He manages to get himself upright, blinking against the unwanted daylight seeping into his corneas, but can't rid his muscles of the strange lethargy that comes from keeping oneself bedridden all morning. Oh, Fuck off. He wants to shout and scream irrationally. Fuck off and leave me alone. The banging gets louder and more persistent. If he were thinking more coherently he'd realise it must be her. He wrenches the door open if only to stop the noise.

"What? What do you want?" He notices her recoil slightly at his tone and manner. Newsflash, Naylor, he wants to drawl at her sarcastically, I'm staying away from company for a reason. Truth is you can stay alone all you like, listen to as many power ballads at time allows, but nothing changes or happens until you're faced with the challenge of conversation. She invites herself in wordlessly, shuts the door behind her.

"I needed to see you." He's staring her up and down, breathing forcefully through his nose, and he finds himself smashing his right palm into the wall on his left. She jumps, leaps out of her skin actually, with a sharp intake of breath. She hasn't seen him like this before; Nobody really has. He feels a tingle from the impact as it shudders through his hand. It reminds him of the grit on the road, pricking his palm as he bawled for his betrothed all that time ago.

"Needed?" He's more Scottish than normal. "Needed? You know anything about that word?"

"Yeah, I do actually." Her veil of confidence is transparent. She's shaking.

"Christ, who are you, anyway?" He's lowered his voice to a whisper that chills her to the bone. "Why do I torture myself, Jac? Why did I ever try to have a tender moment with you, when I knew it'd just slap me in the face."

"Tender?!" She's stuck in this moment, and all its icy lack of tenderness, thrown by his behaviour. Her eyes are trained on him, though, like a sniper. "I know, Jonny." No she doesn't, because it only exists in his head now; Josie is no longer real. "I know what happened in Edinburgh."

"Get out of my flat." Her eyes widen. If he could hear himself he'd realise it's because he sounds dangerous. "Get out!" He's right up in her face.

"No!" Her volume matches his but she shrinks in his shadow. They both know that he won't lay a finger on her, and that gives her strength. "Not until you talk." They stare each other out for a while. She's stoic, determined, and holding on to the fact that he's cracking. She wonders if he's about to cry, but instead his shoulders relent. He lets his hand drop from its position against the wall and nods forlornly, motioning for her to follow him into the living room.

"She was my world. People say that, in relationships. People say that all the time, but, no. Nothing comes close to what me and Josie had. Nothing." He pauses for a second. "You know that thing you said to me, in the treatment room, when I stitched your head?" She nods, as unwilling to repeat it as he is. "I said that to Josie every single day, but, I don't think I'll ever say that again. I don't think I can. Not really."

"Acceptance."

"What?"

"You're not there yet. It's been eight years, but you haven't grieved at all."

"I." He stops. "I don't know how to." It's a crushing realisation. He places his head in his hands, still unable to cry. "It's just, it's numb. It's a bell jar. That whole six years of my life is, I don't know, locked away from me. Behind the glass."

"You can't be like this."

"Can too."

"No. One day of, what, daring yourself to break, and 364 days of acting? Just, a mask?"

"Pot, kettle, Jac."

"Coping." She makes quotation marks with her fingers as she said the words, illustrating her disapproval.

"I cope because I have to, because the alternative would be.." He runs out of steam.

"Sticking your head in the oven?" She finishes unhelpfully, nervously, clearly perturbed by his metaphor.

"But that isn't me." He's compelled to confirm it, noticing her unease.

"Not at the moment. Tell me, though, does it get any better each year? What direction is your head going in? Cause this looks like a downward spiral to me. You can't be numb forever." He frowns.

"You do it."

"Not like this. I'm not you. You need to talk about it." Jac waits for a response but gets nothing. She bites her lip, and her hand flies subconsciously to her abdomen. Then, "Josie was pregnant." He looks angry when she says it, but she knows it's just a reaction. She's steeled herself against his impending verbal tirade, so she's surprised when it doesn't come.

"Yeah." He says it softly, but the word is bitter on his lips. "Yeah. Everything was perfect." Hot tears plague Jac's vision. She can't shield herself from the awful story, barely brings herself to try.

"God, who could do that?" Jonny shrugs, expression blank.

"Nutter. Schizophrenic apparently. Locked up for a long time now."

"You don't see that coming, that kind of tragedy." She's thinking aloud, she knows this isn't what she should be saying or what he needs to hear, but her emotions are taking over. She's never been very good at this; People. Comforting. Counselling.

"No." He confirms, responding instinctively to her need. "You've got everything in front of you, you know, when you're young. It's all undecided; All potentially changeable." Jac frowns. She understands the notion but she can only see it as one she's glad to see the back of. She can't yearn for that time and she can't find it in herself to sympathise with anyone who would. 'Potentially changeable' can't be something you look back on and regret. Not without accepting liability, or something. So, this kind of tragedy is a new idea. She shakes herself. Tells herself to get out of her own head and listen.

"What happened, when it happened?" He doesn't quite understand. "I mean, the paper said nobody was available for comment. St Joseph's said you gave no contact for reference." The magnitude of her digging dawns on him slowly, and he nods carefully.

"I ran. I disappeared. As for the reference," he shrugs, "I put everything into the interview. I convinced an SHO to vouch for me, even though she'd only just met me."

"Mo." Jac confirms, as if it needed confirming. "So you really never told anybody anything? You walked straight from one life into another?" Her head is muddled. She thinks she understands that theory absolutely but, looking into the broken soul of Jonny Mac, she knows instinctively how wrong it is. How utterly unhealthy.

"I had to. That's the only thing I could think to, could manage to.. Just the only thing. The only idea." She nods in frantic agreement, complete understanding. "Because it hurts too much, Jac. It hurts too much." He speaks with gritted teeth. "If, uh, if I went back in time I wouldn't go and see her. No. I'd go back further. I'd make sure I never meet her. Because then It'd never hurt this much."

"Because your forever wasn't forever." There's so much emotion in her voice that he's drawn to her eyes, and the deep ocean behind them. "So now, you'll never feel like that again. You won't consider a forever or try to want one, because there might not be one. You're scared."

"Scared." He says it in the strangest way, not an agreement or a protestation, just a word. Flat. Unfeeling yet so loaded.

"I understand." She thinks it might be the first time she's said that with utter sincerity. Raw honesty. He can see this, plain as day, and it strikes Jonny just how singular his relationship with the woman before him is. It's not the love thing, not like with Josie. Because, inside Jac Naylor it's completely different. She didn't say, 'I love you' out of compulsion. There was no rush of emotion. It was careful and considered. And as she said it she played the last card. The stakes were high so she gave him her Ace. It was tactical. It was was her bargaining chip; Her apology. He's both scared and comforted by the fact that he knows that's the strongest she can feel about him, or anybody perhaps. In that sense, if no other, they're the same. The question, then, is how destructive can that be? He shuts his eyes, tries to understand where his head's at, who he's thinking about.

"We're the same, then, you and me?" Her brow furrows at his question, she's back to looking concerned.

"Are we?"

"You like the Foo Fighters, Arcade Fire, the top 40. Blondie, when nobody's around."

"You've lost me."

"You need the words to fill the void." She remains silent, somewhere between comprehension and confusion.

"We'll be okay." He says, surprising himself with the proclamation. "I think we can do this."

"Yeah?" She's unsure. Hopeful.

"Yeah. We're like, bleach and vinegar." She looks at him like he's lost it, but he knows better. He lost it years ago.

_Fin._


End file.
